


Physical (You're So)

by FascinationStreet



Series: Forget Yourself In Me [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Agender androids, Androids, Connor learning about humans, Depressed Hank Anderson, Gen, Getting Together, Intimacy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Overstimulation, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Relationship Negotiation, Sharing Clothes, he's just a dumb bitch, robopuss, wireplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 15:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FascinationStreet/pseuds/FascinationStreet
Summary: Connor realises that he’d somehow, even after living with Hank for almost a year, dismissed the idea of physical affection. They hugged once after the revolution was over, and Hank claps him on the shoulder or lays a hand on his arm occasionally to guide him when they’re walking somewhere but Connor has never reciprocated.He wants to, though. He just doesn’t know how.He wants to give Hank the same feeling of security that he had given Connor, but the closest thing Connor has experience with is interfacing with other androids, which obviously won’t work for Hank. Connor wants to reciprocate in some way, but he needs to do it in a way that will make sense to Hank. He needs to do some research.





	Physical (You're So)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god guys, I didn't expect the kind of response to the last fic that it it got, I pretty much planned to dump it and run and then this happened so thaNK YOU.
> 
> I have a twitter to go with this account [@fascinationstrt](https://twitter.com/fascinationstrt) also if you're into hockey I have a second AO3 account [@mermaidsmiled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaidsmiled).
> 
> This is part of the robopuss verse, and i'm determined to make that tag a thing, set before Too Busy Being Yours (obviously). I swear this was supposed to be porn but it suddenly developed a plot and I lost all control. I promise the next part will be porn.
> 
> Thank u to my good and beautiful wife Rae for our 2am thirst spirals that so inspire me. Ilu babe

Hank is very upset, and Connor isn’t entirely sure what to do about it. What had appeared to be a nice and simple case had turned into more, with the evidence pointing to ties to a known drugs ring. They’d been assigned it a few days prior, a suspected man who had been attacking androids seemingly at random. Between himself and Hank they’d eliminated all but one of the suspects from the more vocal anti-android groups in the area, but the suspect had been arrested multiple times for dealing Red Ice. Hank’s mood had soured considerably at the prospect of having to pass it higher up the ranks or having to deal with outside involvement.

While Fowler attempted to fend off Major Crimes they continued to work, and traced a possible base of operations to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the industrial district. Hank grabs his keys and Connor follows him out to the parking lot.

They roll up to the warehouse, grit on the road cracking and popping under the wheels of the car. When they get out and approach the building, there’s no sense of foreboding or tension in the air; fluffy clouds meander across the blue sky, noises from the surrounding plants and factories drift on the wind, a group of birds chatter and fight over a pile of trash. Nothing unusual. 

A hand shoots out and rests lightly on Connor’s chest when they approach the entrance, stopping him from walking in. Hank wordlessly takes point with a small nod that Connor returns. While it is not entirely sensible, being that Hank is more susceptible to surprise attacks and weapons than Connor is, he is the one with the gun after all. He hears the last thought in Hank’s voice, a debate they have been over many times in the past and one Connor somehow never wins.

They look around the interior of the warehouse, pushing aside empty crates and ragged drapes. Connor scans for signs of habitation or activity, turning up dusty footprints and fresh smudges of what he determines to be motor oil after analysing it while Hank is looking elsewhere.

Connor hears a small sound, a whisper of air being disturbed by something moving, and turns a second too late to stop the thick metal pipe that is swung at him by an unseen assailant. He takes the blow over his left shoulder and the back of his neck, registering a crack in one of the panels at the base of his skull. His vision fuzzes alarmingly around the edges for a moment before righting itself, error messages beginning to ping one after another.

The second blow catches him on the upper arm but he manages to block the third, grabbing the bar and using it to pull his attacker off-balance. It gives him the time he needs for Hank, having heard the commotion, to charge at him from the side and he takes him down while Connor throws the metal bar away from them. 

“You okay?” Hank asks from where he’s kneeling on top of their suspect, knee between his shoulders. 

Connor takes stock for a second before he nods.

“I’m fine.”

Hank finishes cuffing the man and hauls him up to drag him to the car, Connor following close behind.

When they get back to the station Hank handles booking him in while Connor returns to his desk to run a brief diagnostic to determine if there was any serious damage caused by the blow. He’s functional and there are only a few important error messages that he parses through, which rules out the need to visit a CyberLife lab to have any major repairs. The scan also shows that no major systems have been compromised and the damage is limited to some loose wires and the superficial damage to his exterior. 

He’d be able to fix it himself, were it not in an awkward place. It would be inadvisable to attempt to repair his wiring without being able to see what he was doing.

“What’s the damage?” Hank asks, shrugging his coat off as he walks past Connor’s desk to his own. 

“No significant damage, Lieutenant. There are some loose connections which will have to be reattached and I have already placed an order with CyberLife to replace the cracked panel. I am however unable to repair the internal wiring myself due to the location of the connectors.” He turns a little and motions to the dent in the back of his neck. Hank frowns a little, thinking.

“Can I do it? Or do you need a technician?”

“I did not want to trouble you by asking,” Connor smiles, pleased at the offer, “but yes, you are capable of reconnecting the wiring, thank you.” He sits himself on the edge of Hank’s desk and leans his head forward to give Hank access.

Hank prises the panel open and rests his hand on Connor’s shoulder, taking stock of his circuitry. Connor doesn’t know how much of an android’s internal workings Hank has actually seen, at least not while they were still intact and functioning, so he allows him a moment to examine them.

He guides Hank through how to ensure the wires are properly connected and where to insert them into the panel inside the compartment easily. Hank follows orders well when it matters. He can’t feel Hank’s hands inside of his body, only the hand he still has on Connor’s shoulder to keep him still. It’s more of an awareness, he registers Hank’s hand tighten against his skin and hears a small clicking noise, then he registers the re-established connection and sees notifications. 

While the work itself is a simple fix, it doesn’t take much to plug the wires back into their proper places, there’s a measure of trust to it; Connor is vulnerable with his internal wiring exposed and it would be easy to cause more serious damage if Hank wanted to. He can’t think of any other human, bar the ones working in the CyberLife labs, that he would allow to touch his inner components like this. 

It’s quite pleasant, he thinks, being able to be vulnerable like this and not having to worry about anything bad happening because Hank won’t hurt him, despite their rocky start. He feels something similar to the closeness he feels when interfacing with Markus or Simon, a security in knowing that he is safe.

There’s only two more wires left to be reconnected when unfortunately Detective Reed happens to return from his lunch break.

“What the fuck Anderson, if your boy toy is broken take him back to the store and get a new one, don’t get wrist deep in him in the middle of the office where the rest of us have to work,” He shouts, arms spread wide in exaggerated indignation.

It causes Hank to startle, apparently he hadn’t heard him return, and suddenly a sensation of pure energy roars through Connor’s systems. All external stimulus is overridden by the sensation, like a powersurge but somehow different, more intense without knocking him offline entirely. He hears himself make a noise and is powerless to stop it, unable to properly control his own functions.

As suddenly as it started, the feeling disappears. The noise he was making is cut off, but he is still unable to control himself until his systems recover. He watches the error messages scrolling over the blackness where his visuals should be, moving too fast to properly read them.

His audio processors come back online a few moments later, along with his sight.

“-ou okay? Connor? Hey, Connor, can you hear me?” He sees Hank’s face close to his, bobbing around and looking concerned. Connor blinks and Hank’s hands twitch, one on his knee and one cupping his neck where his head is still hanging down. He can feel Hank’s fingers brushing over the edge of the still open panel, an odd sensation.

“Fuck Connor, are you okay? Do I need to call someone from CyberLife?” Connor registers concern in Hank’s voice; his pulse has increased and he is perspiring slightly.

He takes a few more moments to take stock of his body and his systems now that they have successfully come back online and seem to be running smoothly. Looking around, he notices that there are a lot more people on the office floor than he remembers there being a few moments ago.

“I’m alright thank you Lieutenant, though I will need to run some additional diagnostics to ensure nothing has been damaged.” 

“You sure? You sounded like you were in pain, Connor.” Hank is frowning, and his pulse is still elevated. Connor feels bad that he’s the cause of Hank’s concern.

Fowler tells Connor to take the rest of the day and Hank is pulling on his coat before Fowler has even finished his sentence.

“I’ll drive you home,” he says, his tone making it clear that it’s a statement of fact, not an offer. 

Connor tries to tell him on the ride home that it’s not necessary for him to leave the station, he could have taken a taxi or the bus, but Hank refuses to listen. He gives up trying to tell him otherwise, instead trying to persuade him to go back to work himself. 

“I’m not unwell, Hank, all I need is some time offline to run a full diagnostic and to reboot my affected systems.” Hank is watching him from inside the front door, inching towards him like if he gets close enough to Connor he’ll have to say. “You don’t need to look after me.”

“I still don’t like it, Connor. What if you malfunction or something?” He still looks unsure, but Connor stands his ground.

“If anything happens I promise to let you know so you can come home and save me.” Connor smiles in an attempt at reassurance. “Plus, I have Sumo to look after me. Isn’t that right boy?”

Sumo pads over, tail wagging, and nuzzles at Connor’s hand for attention. He obliges, scratching behind his ears while he looks up at Hank.

Hank eventually relents, with a threat to be home by 5pm and not a moment later. Connor allows him the concession as long as it makes him feel better. He’s still not sure of why exactly Hank seems to blame himself for an accident that caused no apparent ill-effect but he doesn’t feel the need to probe deeper at the moment.

Once Hank finally leaves Connor takes off his jacket and undoes his tie, draping them neatly over the back of one of the dining table chairs. His clothes are built for durability and visual identification but they’re not uncomfortable, and Connor identifies his need to remove the more formal aspects of his outfit as something he has picked up from Hank, who sheds his day clothes and changes into something comfortable the second he crosses the threshold. 

He sits on the couch and waits until Sumo pads over and climbs up to lie himself across the cushions with his head resting on Connor’s knee before he begins his diagnostic. He rests his hand in the thick fur of Sumo’s scruff as he enters low power mode to wait for the results of the full system scan. 

Sumo is snoring when his scan finishes, whuffling occasionally at something in his dreams. Connor feels himself smiling at the simple comfort of the warmth and weight of a sleeping dog practically on top of him. 

No major errors were returned by the diagnostic, though it did identify both some programs which require an update. He has time to spare and Sumo shows no signs of moving any time soon so he connects to the CyberLife suite and initialises the download and installation of the updates. 

When Connor’s systems have rebooted and everything is running smoothly he looks down at Sumo, who is watching him with large eager eyes. 

He smiles and moves to stand up to take him out for a nice long walk to tire him out. At the rattling of the leash Sumo bounds over to him, having transformed from a tired old dog to an oversized puppy in the space of a few seconds. Connor smiles again, wide and fond; he likes dogs. 

They walk around the block, through the suburbs and into a park where Sumo brings him a stick and refuses to move until Connor throws it for him. Connor throws it a good distance at first, then closer and closer as Sumo begins to pant and slow down. 

There’s still an hour or so before Hank returns home from work when they get back from the walk, and Connor thinks it would be nice for him to come home from work to dinner on the table. It’s not unusual for Connor to cook for him, but not having to wait for food can only be a good thing.

He opens the refrigerator to take stock of the available ingredients and runs a search for recipes that would be suitable. In an effort to try and make up for Hank allowing him to move in with him he’d downloaded a few of the more basic domestic droid programs, tidying up the house and making meals so that Hank didn’t order takeout every night. 

There’s no way for him to know how it tastes, but Hank seems happy with what he makes and it satisfies Connor’s need to ensure Hank eats a balanced diet. Well, attempts to anyway. Trying to make Hank eat salad is how Connor learned the true meaning of choosing his battles; an apt idiom.

True to his word Hank walks through the door at 5PM. Connor tries not to think about how many traffic violations he committed to make it on time. 

The house is filled with the smell of the casserole in the oven, almost ready but not quite. 

“Everything okay?” Hank asks. His eyes run over Connor from head to toe and back again, like Connor could have fallen to scrap in the few hours he’d been alone. 

“Fine, thank you Hank,” Connor smiles, pulling on an oven glove to retrieve the casserole from the oven. He’d learned the hard way when he’d started cooking that his sensors, though minimised, do in fact register pain, and high temperatures are not comfortable for androids any more than they are for humans. 

Connor watches Hank eat and asks him about his day, and it could all be normal were it not for Hank inspecting him every so often, looking like he’s waiting for Connor to glitch out or catch fire, perhaps. 

When Hank gets quiet Connor takes over, filling in the silence by telling Hank about his walk with Sumo and interesting facts about the things he saw while they were out. Even by Connor’s standards it’s inane, but he takes great pleasure in watching Hanks shoulders gradually drop further and further away from his chin as he relaxes. He considers the day a success; they apprehended a suspect, he evaded significant damage, and earned a smile from Hank, however small it may have been. 

Hank finishes dinner and waves off Connor’s attempt to take the dishes to the sink. Connor frowns at him disapprovingly when he rinses them off and puts them on the drainer instead of washing them properly, cocking his head when Hank merely shrugs in response. 

He walks to the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of beer and Connor forgives him for being lazy, happy he seems to be taking heed of Connor’s request that he not drink as much whiskey. He follows Hank over to the couch where they watch shitty TV and rub Sumo’s belly as he splays himself out between them.

Connor notices Hanks still taking subtle glances at him when he thinks Connor isn’t watching but he doesn’t seem as tense as he was earlier so Connor lets him think he’s being subtle. He has better things to think about anyway.

The feeling of comfort and intimacy that Hank gave him while while he was helping him, even in the middle of the bullpen, hasn’t been far from his mind all day. He realises that he’d somehow, even after living with Hank for almost a year, dismissed the idea of physical affection. They hugged once after the revolution was over, and Hank claps him on the shoulder or lays a hand on his arm occasionally to guide him when they’re walking somewhere but Connor has never reciprocated. 

He wants to, though. He just doesn’t know how.

He wants to give Hank the same feeling of security that he had given Connor, but the closest thing Connor has experience with is interfacing with other androids, which obviously won’t work for Hank. Connor wants to reciprocate in some way, but he needs to do it in a way that will make sense to Hank. He needs to do some research.

As they sit on the couch, Hank’s head starting to nod slightly, Connor starts to look into physical intimacy and the way people perform it for each other. The results he gets for intimacy are very unhelpful at first, largely links to pornography, but once he starts filtering he starts to compile a list.

Hank must have dozed off slightly while Connor was occupied, because he jerks hard and lets out a startled mumble when Sumo barks at a noise outside. Connor watches him scrub his hands over his face and yawn, before standing up and stretching out his back. 

“I’m turning in for the night,” he says, one arm raised behind his back, still stretching, “did you run your tests?”

“Yes, nothing of concern was raised. I updated a few systems and should be fine, thank you Hank.” Connor smiles at him brightly.

Hank lets out a massive sigh, like he’s only now prepared to accept that Connor isn’t about to spontaneously combust the second he leaves him alone.

“Good,” Hank grunts, before he picks up his empty beer bottle and carries it into the kitchen.

Connor stays where he is, waving goodnight to Hank cheerily. Hank gives him a small, fond smile, and Connor is happy.

He returns to his list making, reviewing his progress so far.

_Ways humans express intimacy:_  
Holding hands - very similar to interfacing, could be nice, however not very physically stimulating.  
Hugging - very nice, already experienced with Hank. platonic method of showing affection if Hank does not reciprocate interest in further intimacy, have already established the required level of friendship.  
Kissing - can express non-sexual closeness shared between friends or familial relationships, commonly depicted in media. Can also be used if interest in sexual intimacy is desired.   
Sexual activity - limited by physical body at present, unsure of Hank’s openness to a sexual relationship. too broad a category; requires deeper research. 

He doesn’t have much to go on, but he resolves to find the perfect way to express his feelings to Hank and to reciprocate what he’s already given him. Connor also notes that touching Hank more, regardless of intent, is good; health benefits of regular casual physical intimacy include reduction of stress hormones and the release of oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin.

Connor adds regular physical contact to his action plan to improve Hanks health and smiles, happy with what he’s achieved. His considers getting up from the couch and going to his bedroom, but Sumo is still pinning half of his body and he looks very comfortable where he is. His bedroom is more of a large closet, previously used as a walk in wardrobe and dumping space for boxes Hank had accumulated over the years. He’s argued that he didn’t require a room of his own given that he did not need to sleep like humans, but Hank had insisted that if they were going to live together then Connor needed his own room, something about being a roommate, not a pet. Connor appreciates the effort Hank goes to to make space in his life for him. 

Smiling, Connor decides not to disturb Sumo and enters sleep mode, feeling content being stuck underneath a snoozing dog.

His sleep cycle has not yet completed when he’s woken unexpectedly. He scans his surroundings to try and determine the source of the disturbance when he hears a distant grunting. Assuming it must be Sumo wanting to go outside he stands and walks towards the door at the back of the house, but Sumo is still curled up on the couch, wedged into the corner and letting out the occasional snore. His curiosity is piqued, and he stops to listen for the sound again. 

It happens again, a muffled but pained-sounding grunt coming from Hank’s bedroom. Connor knows that Hank suffers from nightmares on occasion, and can sometimes wake suddenly, yelling at something only he can see. 

Since he’s awake, he approaches Hank’s door, intending to wake him before the dream can sour his day before it’s even started. When he opens the door though, Hank is awake.

Connor looks at him, frozen for a second in surprise at seeing Hank looking back at him instead of with his face half buried in the pillow. Hank’s vitals are raised; he’s sweating and his heart is racing along with his respiration. Connor’s olfactory senses aren’t particularly sensitive, but he smells something in the air, and registers Hank’s flushed face and neck. The sheets are thrown away from his chest but one hand is still underneath them.

“You wanna fuck off any time soon pal, be my guest,” Hank snaps, and Connor realises too late that he’s just interrupted Hank while he was masturbating.

“I apologise, Lieutenant, I assumed you were suffering from another night terror and thought it best to wake you.”

“Yeah well…. I’m kinda busy here honestly so if you don’t mind getting the fuck out that would be swell,” he growls, and Connor, seemingly a step behind everything that has happened in the last few minutes, registers that he has invaded Hank’s privacy and then continued to stand there. He should have apologised and left immediately so as no to further embarrass him.

“I’m sorry, Hank, I’ll leave you alone.” Connor shuts the door behind him without waiting for a response from Hank. 

It leaves him feeling slightly off-kilter as he makes his way to his own room, having not expected such a strong reaction from the Lieutenant. It had not disturbed him to walk in on Hank masturbating, it is not, after all, the first time he has overheard it, nor is he under the impression that Hank does not indulge himself regularly. Even in middle age it is still reasonable to assume that Hank has a sexual drive and appetite which needs to be satisfied. 

He can’t say that he understands the human taboo of discussing sexual acts; it is a known and accepted part of human like after all, however he resolves to respect Hank’s reticence to be open and frank about it in the future.

He settles onto the single bed in his bedroom and powers down again.

Hank doesn’t mention the previous night’s mishap again, and Connor is happy to follow his lead. He doesn’t want to cause Hank any further distress, resolving to listen closer before he enters Hank’s bedroom in future. 

For a moment in time, a few hours that morning between waking up and completing their breakfast and morning routines, Connor believes that a line has been drawn under the previous day and that he won’t have to think about it again unless in idle remembrance. 

That changes as soon as they walk into the office at the station. The people they encounter vary between being genuinely concerned for his well being, which he appreciates, and distantly curious, not speaking to either of them but watching them closely. 

“Aw Anderson, you got a new sex bot! Good for you buddy, you need all the help you can get,” Detective Reed raises his steaming cup of coffee in mocking toast to Hank, who doesn’t bother to look away from his screen to respond to the detective. 

“Bite me, asshole.” Short and sweet, then. 

Once the curiosity of his observers is sated they leave them alone to continue with their work. Connor could see them looking, much like Hank the night before but Connor knows the looks at the station are not motivated by concern. 

Being to subject of the latest office gossip however has the effect that Connor has been thinking about the experience and the sensation he felt. It wasn’t a negative sensation, as he would have expected. He’s still not entirely sure what caused it, what wires Hank accidentally crossed to produce that kind of reaction, but he thinks he would like to feel it again. It was overwhelming, leaving him incapable of proper control over his body. It should have been a frightening or concerning experience, but having Hank close at hand negated any fear over the loss of control he might have felt. He trusted Hank to make sure he was okay. 

It felt like lightning, he thinks. It’s the closest analogy he can come up with without empirical data. Like a bolt from the blue, or the racing of fire, lighting up every synapse and drive in his body. 

He wants to experience it again. Handing himself over to Hank, the rush of power, both. He just has no idea how. He can’t reach the panel properly himself, and he can’t manipulate his wiring blind either. He’s not stupid. But part of it is that he wants Hank to be the one to do it it, he doesn’t want to ask just anyone. He wants the trust and the security that he already feels around Hank, just more of it. 

He resolves to wait until the replacement panel for his neck arrives to make any decisions. 

That night, after Hank has gone to bed, Connor continues his research on human intimacy and how to express himself appropriately and in a way that Hank will both understand and enjoy. 

_Ways humans express intimacy [cont]_  
Tickling: unclear if this is a positive act, could result in physical damage.   
Massage: advantage of reducing stress for Hank, easy to download massage routines, will increase physical longevity and stamina.   
Maintaining eye contact: deceptively difficult, have been told to ‘stop fuckin’ staring’ at Hank on more than one occasion. 

Connor feels positive when he disengages sleep mode in the morning fifteen minutes early to make Hank breakfast. He prepares scrambled eggs and bacon on toast with coffee and orange juice, timed to be ready for Hank waking up. The table is set and he lays out the food, sitting in the chair opposite Hank’s to wait for him. 

The food is cold and Connor is frowning slightly by the time he hears movement from Hank’s room. He is reluctant now to attempt to enter Hank’s room without prior permission or acknowledgment lest he cause Hank any further distress, so he continues to wait. A visibly hungover Hank emerges from the bedroom, eyes almost shut against the morning light. He shuffles over to the dining table and falls into the chair as if his strings have been cut, a long deep groan rumbling from his chest. 

“Good morning Hank. I made you breakfast.” It’s an obvious statement, one that didn’t need to be made, and Connor can hear how unsure his voice sounds when he says it. He’s thrown off by Hank’s state, he hadn’t even seen him drinking the night before. 

Hank merely grunts, pushing aside the plate to get to the coffee, lukewarm at best, and downs it in two large gulps. 

Connor allows him precisely seven minutes of picking at his food and pretending to eat it before he stands up.

“You need to get dressed Lieutenant, we’re going to be late.” He keeps his voice level, sounding almost mechanical. Hank reeks of whiskey and sadness, and it makes Connor uncomfortable; Hank had seemed fine the whole day. Connor had not detected any abnormalities in his vitals, nor had he seen or heard anything to have turned Hank to a hidden supply of whiskey. 

Hank ignores him as much as possible that day. Once Connor had had to leave work early the day of the arrest Hank had wrapped up the case as much as he could before the current drug task force had taken over. They were in the best position to exploit their new connection to one of the biggest Red Ice rings currently in operation. It leaves them with paperwork and little else to do. Usually Hank would get bored by mid-morning and would find something for them to do that wasn’t work, most often finding ways to aggravate Detective Reed or trying to trip Connor up with word association games. 

He’s the same when they get home, Hank not giving Connor a chance to offer to make something before he grabs a takeout menu off the top of the stack by the microwave. Connor is no longer disappointed that the effort he put into breakfast was wasted or that Hank got drunk in secret, but he didn’t feel like offering to cook again tonight anyway.

Connor doesn’t want to leave Hank alone, so he stays out in the lounge with him while he eats and works his way through a six pack of beer. It’s motivated in part by idea that if Hank drinks it’s better that he do it in the open, and partly because even so unresponsive and with an atmosphere hanging over them Connor genuinely enjoys being in Hank’s presence. 

It’s not the first time Hank has had a relapse into sullen moods and self isolation so he’s not overly concerned, but it still doesn’t sit entirely right with him. Even if it was seemingly insignificant in retrospect, there had been an identifiable trigger or some reason for it but Connor can find nothing that may have caused this swing. There is nothing he can do to resolve the situation but wait it out, something that should be easy had he not developed emotions, but he likes to think that preventing Hank from isolating himself and feeding his demons has a positive effect.

He continues his research in the meantime, taking Hank’s unsociable mood as an opportunity to devote more time to it. He’s reached the inevitable point of exploring forms of sexual intimacy, finding enough to warrant a second list.

_Expressions of intimacy: Sex  
Intercourse: impossible at present, alternative forms of sexual contact required. Intercourse is not required to achieve a level of sexual intimacy or climax._

He has to start with the obvious. The vast majority of the articles he finds about sexual relationships detail only penetrative acts, none of which are currently suitable. Connor is also unsure of Hank’s sexual vigor with his age and with his current lifestyle. He makes a separate note to prompt himself to review his progress in improving Hank’s diet and fitness regime later.

_Mutual masturbation: also impossible at present, however manual masturbation is possible. Hank presumably engages in masturbatory activity on a regular basis and must therefore enjoy the act._  
Frottage: generally positive response, requires close physical contact however is non-invasive and is frequently utilised by those who have yet to develop a desire for more explicit sexual contact  
Fingering: unable to receive manual stimulation at present, older men are perhaps reluctant to receive manual stimulation; possibly due to medical connotations? 

Connor is receptive to the concept of sharing physical and sexual intimacy with Hank, however he has no clear data as to whether Hank is similarly amenable. Without confirmation of Hank’s feeling on the matter, he finds the idea of more hugs and occasional platonic kisses, though avoiding Hank’s mouth so as not to pressure him, to be the most acceptable. It would not be appropriate however for him to begin his campaign of reciprocation and appreciation while Hank is not in a positive headspace. He’s happy to wait until Hank feels better.

Connor is forced to revise his theory a day later, throwing his plans briefly into disarray until he thinks it though.

They’re working silently at their desks, just as they have been for the previous few days, Connor studiously ignoring the smell of whiskey from Hank in the mornings and the gruff silence in the evenings. Sometimes Hank will have a conversation with him and Connor will smile in relief that his mood seems to have lifted slightly and then Hank will become sullen and withdrawn again. 

He can find no logic to it. He’s been monitoring for potential stressors in the environment and had narrowed it down to a lack of drinkable coffee, a slight rise in crimes perpetrated against androids, and the general existence of Detective Reed. None of them however seem to provide a reasonable explanation as to Hank’s moods. Sometimes all it takes is for Connor to walk into a room and Hank begins to display physical symptoms of stress.

As with all things, it takes an outsider to put things into perspective. Even androids who were designed to collect and interpret data as a primary function sometimes need a nudge in the right direction when the investigation stalls.

Detective Reed, with impeccable timing, happened to pass their desks as Connor asked Hank if he would like a coffee from the break room. His energy levels appear to be flagging and Connor wants to be useful, but Hank responds only with a raised eyebrow and silence.

“For Christ’s sake Hank, you better not fuck your little droid at work, if you want a sex toy keep it at home where it belongs,” Detective Reed sneers, faltering slightly as the barbed retort he was expecting from Hank never materialises. He carries on walking to the corridor leading to the interrogation rooms with a glance over his shoulder, brow furrowed.

Connor looks back at Hank and sees his jaw clenched, eyes down on the report in his hands. He suddenly looks incredibly interested in it, which strikes Connor as strange considering the amount of sighing he’d been hearing from him since he’d picked it up.

Hank refuses to look up from the file for the next forty-two minutes and seventeen seconds. He also pretends not to hear Connor whenever he speaks, which he gives up after the twenty-second minute of Hank’s sudden investment in the burglary report.

When they get home that night Connor allows Hank to order takeout again while he takes Sumo for a walk and then retreats to his own room to review his hypothesis. He has been working under the assumption that the physical presentation of Hank’s emotions were rooted in stress or sadness, but he’d made a fundamental error of not considering alternate causes; illness, fatigue, attraction. They’re all possible 

It’s the last one that has Connor’s LED whirring yellow in deep thought. Hank’s reaction to Detective Reed’s jab hadn’t fit any of Connor’s assumptions. He knows Hank is no longer prejudiced against androids and respects their sexual autonomy, however if he was angered by Detective Reed’s bigotry he would have had no issues with enthusiastically and audibly challenging him. It could perhaps have been embarrassment at the thought of owning a sex-aid and the implications it could make about his manhood, though while Hank, like most other human men, places stock in the concept of demonstrative masculinity, he is not easily affected by such slights.

His other theory is that Hank has been experiencing arousal, and to his knowledge the only constant in Hank’s tension has been himself. It is entirely possible that Hank finds him attractive; he was designed to be non-threatening and aesthetically pleasing after all, and Hank often comments on his appearance. Connor is aware that humans will often paradoxically insult the objects of their affections or ardour in an effort to divert suspicion or their own feelings.

He reviews the other behaviours Hank has been exhibiting. Hank will very obviously look at him and avoid his eye in turns, which he finds highly contradictory. The fluctuations in his vitals that he was reading as stress are identical to signs of attraction or arousal, however he will need to determine if further indicators of interest are present. His research into intimacy and methods of self expression will come in extremely useful in devising an experiment to further examine Hank’s responses.

In the meantime, he has not yet completed his exploration of methods of sexual contact.

_Expressions of intimacy: Sex [cont]_  
Oral sex: currently capable of performing oral stimulation of genitals and other erogenous zones, however unable to swallow any of the resulting fluids without proper means of disposal  
Tantric sex: limited acceptance as a legitimate sexual practice. Unlikely that Hank would appreciate meditation   
Intercrural sex: initial reaction highly positive, simulates penetrative intercourse and is physically possible at present, requires extensive physical contact   
Prostate massage: similar to fingering resulting in similar possible hesitations, however orgasm is achievable through manual external stimulation or with the use of a sex-aid. 

Connor’s mind sticks on intercrural intercourse. He does not experience arousal in the human definition, but he is extremely intrigued by it and is unable to prevent himself from simulating the experience in his head. It appears to be the closest thing to actual intercourse that he is currently able to achieve with his default state, as well as providing extensive and prolonged contact of skin resulting in production of high levels of positive hormones in the human body. 

He enters sleep mode at a later time than his usual routine that night, having exhaustively researched his discoveries about himself and physical intimacy. 

In the morning Connor again rises a short time before Hank’s usual alarm to prepare his experiment. 

He dresses as usual, meticulously buttoning his shirt and straightening his tie. He has underwear issued by CyberLife, however he had chosen to forego wearing it after breaking his programming, seeing no use for it without genitalia to cover. His shirt is long enough to cover his genital region once his shirt stays are attached in order to preserve modesty. 

Once he has done so, and has properly fastened his sock suspenders, he stands and carries his trousers out into to kitchen to spread out over the counter. In his first trip to a grocery store he’d found a lint roller to keep in the house, mostly for when Hank had to look presentable and thus not be covered in dog fur. He pulls it out of the drawer and begins to slowly, given Hank’s current unpredictability regarding his alarm, and methodically divest his trousers of Sumo’s shed hairs. 

The rhythm and repetition of his task lulls him into a kind of daze, so much so that he doesn’t actually notice Hank leaving his room until he hears a choking noise behind him. He turns, smiling brightly. 

“Good morning Hank. I’m almost ready to leave whenever you are.” 

Hank doesn’t respond, merely opening and closing his mouth over and over again. Connor suddenly understands the idiom about gaping like a fish. 

He splutters a little, his eyes darting over Connor’s state of semi-undress and lingering on Connor’s exposed legs longer than anywhere else. He makes aborted attempts at words before he groans Connor’s name and turns his face to the ceiling, rubbing his hands over his eyes. 

It’s certainly not a reaction he had anticipated, though not incompatible with his hypothesis. He notes in particular that Hank’s gaze was repeatedly drawn to his legs before he’d covered his eyes. The usual signs of stress were exhibited; perspiration, elevated heart rate and respiration, but this time Connor actively looks for additional reactions. Hank’s pupils dilated visibly upon seeing Connor, as well as a noticeable blush dusting his cheeks and his tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

Connor is confident in his revised theory that Hank is attracted to him, though he is unable to determine why this is causing Hank so much distress. He will need further time to consider the possible reasons, but more importantly to weigh the benefits and disadvantages of initiating physical contact in order to signal his interest in Hank or waiting for Hank to come to him.

He leaves his deliberations for later, Hank having finally finished eating and dressed. He picks up his keys and waits for Connor to walk through the door ahead of him, stopping to pet Sumo on the way out, so he can lock it behind them.

The drive to work, as has become usual, is silent. Though, Connor notes, Hank seems somewhat preoccupied and Connor can only assume that he is the cause.

He smiles to himself slightly at the thought, head turned towards the window; it makes him feel good that he could be capable of such distraction without any effort. It buoys him through the day, though he does not allow any of it to show on his face. After all, he’s not ready yet to present his conclusion without proof of concept.

\--

Connor knows that it’s unreasonable to expect Hank to act on his feelings when the only thing that has changed is that Connor is now aware that there are feelings to act upon. Hank is not cognisant of his findings nor that Connor shares his interest in further emotional and physical contact, so it falls to Connor to take the lead. 

He has determined his favoured methods of contact and reciprocation, as well as knowing that above all else he wishes for Hank to replicate the sensations he had caused a few days prior. After a night spent running various scenarios to determine their projected rates of success instead of powering down, he believes he is finally prepared to make his move. 

Hank is still drinking in secret, though Connor has observed a decrease in the levels of inebriation he has achieved over the last few days, so he knows it’s not wise to begin anything in a public forum or a space where Hank does not feel that he is in control. Connor does not want to place Hank in any situation where he feels unable to refuse or that his decision is being influenced by anything. 

To Connor’s surprise, his plan does not in fact reach its projected levels of success. He had determined that his best approach would be to express his gratitude to Hank for all of the things he has done and the companionship and sense of purpose he has given him, and to offer something equally as positive in return. 

His intention was for Hank to realise that Connor is highly appreciative that Hank has made a space for him in his life and that he considers him the first and foremost companion, above of all of the friends he has made thus far, even Markus. 

It is clear to him now that he had underestimated Hank’s self-destructive tendencies and inability to accept positivity when directed at himself.

Hank had stared at him silently for over thirty seconds when Connor expressed his desire to show Hank his gratitude with some form of physical act over dinner. Connor catalogued the same reactions as previously displayed; pupillary dilation, elevated heart rate, increased respiration. He’d felt very happy with himself, assured of his success until Hank’s expression collapsed in on itself and he slammed his beer bottle down on the table where he’d just taken a drink.

“What the fuck Connor? Do you really think that lowly of me?” Hank growls, quiet but no less angry for the lack of volume. This is where they are now, and Connor is reeling. He hesitates, taken off guard by the unexpected reaction.

“You think I do things because I expect you to what, suck my dick and bend over for me in gratitude? Christ, if I wanted that I’d go back to the Eden Club and flash my cash at one of those Traci bots like the rest of those seedy old fucks.”

“Forgive me, Lieutenant, I did not m-”

“Fuck’s sake, don’t call me that now,” Hank interrupts, “not when I’m apparently no better than every sick landlord in those shitty old pornos.”

“Hank, if you’d let me explain,” Connor is rapidly losing control of the situation, he doesn’t know what to do for the best,

“Don’t bother, Connor, I get it. I’m a dirtbag, it’s fine.” He stands from the table, the chair scraping loudly across the linoleum as it’s pushed backwards. Hank slams the door to his bedroom and Connor hears the clinking of a bottle. 

Connor sits in silence, stunned. None of his simulations had ended with Hank taking offence to his offer, only rejecting or denying his advances.

He feels guilt; perhaps he had not made his intentions clear enough, or had inadvertently phrased them in such a way as to make Hank think that he viewed it as equal payment for something Connor knows he does out of the goodness of his heart and because of their friendship.

For the first time in a while he feels slightly overwhelmed by the intricacies of human interaction. He was programmed to hunt down deviants and extract confessions; he had no need of a mastery of inflection, sub-text, and implication, nor full comprehension of the vast complexity of human emotion and ego. He understands far more than he did, especially since he accepted his deviancy and attempted to explore his own new feelings and thoughts, but he can still find himself lost in new situations.

While Connor feels a desire to contribute in the house while Hank allows him to live there for only a contribution to the electricity bills to cover their increase since he arrived, he in no way feels obligated to offer him his services. He wants to be a good housemate for Hank, and he is able to perform menial domestic tasks with less effort and disdain than him. Connor sees it as an optimisation of resources; Connor can, on occasion, cook and clean, Hank drives them around and is deceptively handy with appliance repair. They compliment each other.

Logically, he is also aware of Hank’s tendency to lash out and to push people away when made uncomfortable. He hadn’t accurately accounted for it in his simulations, but the fact still remains that he perhaps misinterpreted Connor’s proposal with the intention to deflect from whatever issue is visibly affecting him, likely related to Connor and possibly related to their relationship.

It would be futile to pursue the conversation which Hank is so agitated, so Connor resigns himself to waiting it out and reviewing his approach. He needs to make it clear to Hank that he feels no obligation or debt to him, nor that he wants to offer any kind of intimate relationship in exchange for preferential treatment.

Hank emerges the next morning looking pathetic and bleary-eyed. He’s so mollified by the hangover and energy spent on his outburst that he doesn’t even attempt to protest against Connor making him breakfast or practically wrapping his hand around the handle of a cup of coffee.

Connor allows him to wallow in his misery without comment, which he feels is very magnanimous of him given that this morning’s hangover is even more self-inflicted than usual. He makes him plain toast and pointedly places a banana in front of him. The potassium will do him good in his current state.

When Hank is finally dressed and ready to leave for work, he allows Connor to drive them to the station. Connor has no issue with driving, but Hank prefers to do it himself so Connor had stopped offering. He takes the keys from Hank’s hand and rounds the car to the driver’s side.

Connor no longer feels the guilt he did the night before; it is useless to fixate on negative emotions when steps can be taken to improve or rectify the situation. There’s a shift in Hank’s sullenness of the previous few days though; he looks almost embarrassed, which Connor finds a positive sign. If Hank cares enough to feel abashed he must then surely have some kind of emotional investment in their relationship and the situation at hand. He can work with that.

He gives Hank two days to mellow, which takes them neatly to the weekend and a well-earned day off for them both.

Connor wakes at 7am precisely and dresses in the only other set of clothing he owns; a soft, comfortable pair of black jogging pants and a navy Detroit Police Department t-shirt. He’d chosen to continue to wear his CyberLife-provided uniform, he found it functional and while he understands the need some androids feel to distance themselves from their past as much as they can, he does not share the urge. 

Hank however, on their first day off spent together after Connor had officially moved into Hank’s house, had taken one look at him and taken exception to him wearing it. He didn’t seem to be interested in Connor’s argument that he did not need to wear comfortable clothes given that he did not register sensation in the same way as humans.

“It’s the principle of the thing, Connor. You can’t spent a whole day on the couch wearing a shirt and tie, it’s illegal,” he’d said, voice muffled from where he’d been looking through his closet for something. Connor was not aware of any law forbidding certain types of clothing in the home, but he didn’t feel the need to point it out.

Hank had forced him into a pair of his old sweat pants and a plain grey sweater. The pants were far too small for Hank, apparently from “back before I discovered Chicken Feed”, but still slipped down to the widest part of his hips every time he moved despite having made use of the drawstring on them. The sweater was equally as large, his hands covered by the long sleeves, but Hank had given him a nod of approval when he emerged from Hank’s bedroom and returned to the couch. He’d caught Connor trying to roll up the sleeves of the sweater so that they weren’t so large but Hank had told him to “knock it off, you don’t need to analyse anything today. We’re doing sweet fuck all, that’s how days off work”.

A while later Hank had taken him to a department store and had helped him pick out his own clothing to wear at home, and had only slightly judged him for not buying anything to replace his uniform. Connor still has not determined Hank’s issue with his CyberLife clothing, and Hank maintains, falsely, that he has no opinion on it at all. 

He’d been given the DPD shirt after he’d been covered in Thirium and blood during an arrest and wasn’t allowed back into the office without changing first. It’s soft and fits him well, and he feels happy every time he looks down and sees the shield over his breast.

He leaves his room and quietly greets Sumo in the kitchen, then picks up his leash and clips it onto Sumo’s collar and leads him out of the door for a walk, giving Hank enough time to sleep in. Waking up early on a day off is also illegal, according to Hank’s personal code of law.

When he returns, Sumo panting and pulling at his leash, Hank is already firmly installed in the horrific dip in the corner of the couch that he loves so much. Connor can’t understand how he can be comfortable sitting there, but it’s a fight for another day.

He allows Sumo to distract Hank by climbing all over him and attempting to lick his face while he goes into his room to retrieve the replacement panel and bring it back into the lounge. He places it on the coffee table and sits down on the couch, trying his best not to appear too eager. His revised plan has a higher rate of success, but he has to stick to it. 

Connor sits close enough to Hank to feel the warmth rolling off him, and to be caught in the path of an excited dog, but not close enough that Hank might feel cornered. The midground is important to the plan; it allows Connor to express his interest through proximity while maintaining a non-threatening distance. He’s cautiously optimistic of his chances this time.

Connor figures that receiving enthusiastic and loving kisses from a dog can only improve Hank’s mood. He waits until Sumo finally climbs off Hank and lumbers off into the kitchen heading for his water bowl before he speaks.

“I require some assistance with replacing the damaged panel in my neck, would you mind helping again?”

Hank huffs out a disbelieving laugh and watches Connor like he’s waiting for the punchline.

“What, so I can short you out again? You’d be better off going to a CyberLife store or something, at least they know what they’re doing.”

Connor is undeterred.

“Actually it was rather pleasant. I would not be opposed to you ‘shorting me out’ again.”

Hank looks at him again, his face is more serious, but he’s still looking at Connor the same way he does when he thinks he’s just made a joke and he’s waiting for Connor to give it away. Connor’s face doesn’t move.

“Huh?” Hank grunts, as eloquent as always, and Connor is hit by a sudden fondness for this mess of a man.

“Hank,” Connor starts, the most crucial part of his plan, “when I offered myself to you it was not in return for your services or out of a misplaced sense of obligation, but because I would like to experience the sensation again.

“You don’t know what you’re saying Connor,” Hank says, taking a breath to continue before Connor cuts him off.

“Actually, I know exactly what I’m trying to say. I would like you to manipulate my wiring in the same way you did last time in an effort to replicate the effects.” Hank is silent, so he continues.

“When you were assisting me in the station after the incident, I felt secure. Allowing you to access and touch my internal components is something which required trust, which in turn produced a feeling of intimacy. I enjoyed the power surge you accidentally caused, and it felt better because you caused it and I did not fear damage.” 

Connor pauses to allow Hank to respond, but he merely blinks.

“I thought long and hard about how to reciprocate the feeling of intimate friendship you gave me, I researched the ways in which humans demonstrate affection and bond through physical gesture to find a way which you would understand, and downloaded additional third party software to support some of them.”

Connor can see the moment it hits home for Hank, but he’s ready for it this time.

“You weren’t far wrong when you asked this last time you know,” Hank sighs, “you don’t want a washed up sad sack of shit like me Connor, you can do far better than me.” He sinks back into the cushions, looking more tired than he had when they started talking.

“Actually, Lieutenant, I get to make my own decisions now. That’s what the revolution was about, or didn’t you pay attention?” He keeps his face open so that Hank knows he’s not angry. He knows it’s an underhanded move, but he could find no better alternative that would adequately shut down Hank’s need to push anyone away that gets too close to uncomfortable topics.

Hank sighs again, sounding like he’s expelling more than just the breath in his lungs. He stares ahead of him at the ceiling for a while, but Connor allows him the time to process. His expression appears to be resigned but tentatively hopefully. Or perhaps Connor is projecting, after all his people reading skills can be quite limited in unfamiliar situations.

“So,” he says eventually, leaning over to poke at the box with the new panel in it still sitting on the table, “what exactly do you want me to do?” He sounds gruff, but Connor thinks there’s a small measure of fondness too. Connor has observed over time that Hank likes to pretend to be more annoyed about things than he really is, though Connor has never been able to determine why exactly he does it.

Connor smiles and turns around, pulling on the neck of his shirt to expose the damaged area and leans his head forwards. 

Hank follows his instructions to open the panel and relays what he can see. He sits back slightly, waiting for Connor’s further direction.

“You said you wanted me to cross your wires again, right?” He sounds unsure, like maybe he’d completely misunderstood Connor, despite him having been very clear.

“Yes,” Connor reassures, “but only if you’re comfortable.” He adds a slight challenge to his tone, confident that Hank would prioritise maintaining his pride than his inability to trust something positive when it involves himself. He hears Hank swallow.

“How?” 

Connor smiles.

“There are still loose wires in the compartment, touching the live ends should produce the desired effect.” 

He feels Hank’s hands probing inside of his neck again, more an awareness than sensation once his hands leave his skin. Connor waits patiently.

He’s rewarded with the familiar surge of bright white light though his systems, and he lets out an involuntary groan. It’s unlike anything else he’s ever felt in his short operational life.

“That really feel good?” Hank sounds unconvinced, “a bit of hotwirin’ all it takes to get you worked up?”

Connor twitches a little as his systems stabilise.

“Yes, Hank. It feels good, like every sensor in my body is registering positive stimulation simultaneously.”

“Positive stimulation, huh?” He can hear the smirk in Hank’s voice, and he knows he’s fully on board. He sparks the wires together again, holding them together for longer and Connor actually moans, his voice modulating slightly before Hank pulls them apart.

“Do it again,” Connor demands.

This time Hank holds them together and doesn’t pull them apart, long enough for error messages and glitch reports to flash inside his eyes but he’s not worried. He’s confident in his systems enough to allow himself to get lost in the rush of data, the intensity of it all.

He must blink offline for a moment or two, because Hank is holding his cheek and snapping his fingers in his face until he sees Connor come back online. It’s very similar to the first time in the station, and Connor can feel how dumb his smile must look when he grins up at Hank.

“Hey. You okay, Connor?”

“Excellent, Lieutenant, thank you.” Hank’s hand is still holding his face and Connor likes it enough that he doesn’t bother to sit up straight.

“If I may, I would like to reciprocate now. What would you like to do?” Connor isn’t quite sure that he’d be up to his usual levels of coordination for a few more minutes, but the offer is sincere.

Hank doesn’t drop his hand, but he does shift slightly, his eyes darting away from Connor and back again a few times.

“Maybe uh, maybe not tonight huh Connor? Got a lot to think about here.” 

Connor agrees, and allows Hank to push him so that he’s sitting upright against the couch cushions. He feels so good, and he knows that the lingering sensation and lethargy is more than just his systems rebooting. It’s very pleasant, but Hank may be wise to wait to see how long it takes Connor to reach full operation again.

He smiles over at Hank, who has returned to his disgusting couch hollow and is watching him curiously. Hank returns it, and Connor knows that while Hank may still have his doubts, he believes that Connor returns his interest.

There are lots of ways that Connor knows now to show his appreciation to and of Hank, and he is determined to use as many of them as Hank will allow.


End file.
